


Anything Rather Than

by Pinkerton



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21642091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkerton/pseuds/Pinkerton
Summary: The banns have been published, the engagement party is a fortnight away, and Mr. Eric Bittle has almost convinced himself that his betrothal to Mr. Kent Parson is a cause for celebration.Almost.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 13
Kudos: 68
Collections: Polya Epifest 2019





	Anything Rather Than

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halfdesertedstreets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfdesertedstreets/gifts).



> “Do anything rather than marry without affection.” -- Pride and Prejudice
> 
> Hi! I took your request for Regency PBJ with anachronisms and...uh, made them talk like they're in Pride and Prejudice while living in modern-day NYC. I hope you enjoy this as it was fun to write!
> 
> A/N: "Paramour" literally means a secret, illicit lover. I am not using it as such in this fic. Please read it as an in-universe title for someone in a relationship with a couple that is similar to marriage, no negative connotation what so ever. It just sounds more Regency-ish than other widely used poly terms. Thanks!

“Your sighs are so heavy I worry the building will collapse under the weight of them,” Lardo says. She has arranged herself on the settee by the window of Bitty’s boudoir, the sun lighting up the purple highlights in her hair. “You cannot be so vexed this close to Christmas. You adore the holidays.”

Bitty runs his fingers through his hair again and peers into the mirror of his vanity to be sure his bothersome cowlick has been tamed and sighs again. “The yuletide cannot cheer me with this betrothal always on my mind.”

“Ah, yes.” Lardo walks up behind him and gently smacks his hands away from his hair. She picks up a comb and sets to work. “A betrothal to a handsome man with an NHL contract of six million a year --”

“-- with the addition of performance bonuses, but go on --”

“-- and a physique that cannot be measured in something so inadequate as money, yes, I see what troubles you are under.” She hands Bitty a mirror so he can inspect her work. “If you are truly discontent, you can end the betrothal, you know. Your family’s good name can weather the storm it would cause.”

 _If only_ , Bitty thinks. His father at his wits’ end, up till all hours on the phone, trying to salvage what’s left of their investments, his mother putting on a brave face as she sells off her jewels piece by piece. No, his betrothal to Mr. Parson is what he owes his family, his part in righting the horrible wrongs of his father’s disgraced business partner. 

“Come on, stand up, give us a turn,” Lardo orders. 

Bitty does one better, striking increasingly ridiculous poses as Lardo whistles and claps. Not for the first time, Bitty thanks his lucky stars for their friendship, cultivated since they first met in a coat closet at a horrible ball two years ago, desperate to escape their dates for the night. 

They’d ended up at a diner, black-tie best juxtaposed against dingy vinyl booths as they snuck vodka from Lardo’s flask into their sodas. Mercifully, their outing had escaped the notice of the papers.

Bitty doesn’t see Lardo lifting her phone as she encourages him to be even more outlandish, blowing kisses over his shoulder and smacking his posterior in a way that would have him disowned were he to do it outside the confines of his rooms. 

Laughing, he walks over to his full-length mirror. The merriment has put color in his cheeks, and his close-fitting jeans and sumptuous cashmere sweater look most becoming. 

He strokes the soft fabric, luxuriating in it. Yes, he can marry one of New York City’s most eligible bachelors to keep all this. 

“Your fiance approves of your ensemble.” Lardo waves her phone at him. “Immensely.”

“Oh my god,” Bitty lunges for the phone as Lardo yanks it out of his reach. “Lardo, what have you done?” 

“Oh, Mr. Bittle,” she says in falsetto, “Mr. Parson is ever so desirous after seeing your devastatingly scandalous behavior.”

Bitty’s hair gets irreparably mussed during the tussle for the phone, slightly lessening his sense of victory when wrests it from Lardo’s hand and scrolls to check the damage.

The photo in her text to Mr. Parson is one of him laughing, nose wrinkled and eyes twinkling. 

The response is a string of heart emoji. 

“He is besotted,” Lardo says. “I’ll call you tonight. Enjoy your outing.”

The picture lingers in Bitty’s mind as he finishes his preparations. He wonders if his face is as joyous when he looks upon Mr. Parson, and, if not, he hopes he can learn to make it so.

*****

Having eyes on him has never been a cause for discomfort; Bitty has been used to public scrutiny since he was a child, not only as the son of a wealthy couple but also as a highly decorated gymnast. 

There’s something different about Mr. Parson’s gaze, though, indiscreet and -- Bitty’s mind falters for words. _Hungry_ is what he settles on. 

Mr. Parson downs half his glass of champagne and sets it on the low table next to his chair then crosses the showroom floor to where Bitty is standing on a dais. He runs his fingers down the length of Bitty’s arm. Bitty can imagine how soft the wool and silk feel as Mr. Parson gently puts his hands on Bitty’s shoulder and turns him so they’re facing each other. 

“Hmmm,” he says, as he straightens the collar of the suit jacket, “Mr. Bittle, do you think this will do for our engagement party?”

“It is very fine.” Indeed it is, the type of craftsmanship that Bitty has always sought, every seam perfect.

“We can’t settle for very fine.” Mr. Parson undoes the buttons and slips the jacket off Bitty. 

He shivers.

“Oh,” Mr. Parson says, turning to the saleswoman. “Christine, can you raise the heat? And bring Mr. Bittle a fresh glass of champagne?” He directs his attention back to Bitty. “Can’t have you cold, can we, darling?”

“I have lingered too long in the south for too many years,” Bitty says, as if it were the room bringing goosebumps to his arms.

It’s not that he dislikes Mr. Parson. Quite the contrary. He’s an affable man, quick to laugh. He attempts to be a gentleman at all costs, though --

\-- Bitty knows he shouldn’t fault a man for his upbringing, but as he watches Mr. Parson take a new jacket from Christine, waving off her protestation and bringing it to Bitty himself, he can’t help the frustration that rises.

“Mr. Parson,” he says, hoping that the lilt in his voice disguises his annoyance, “Christine knows her trade.”

“Of course,” he slips the jacket onto Bitty’s shoulders. “But would you deny me the pleasure of putting you into the jacket you’ll be wearing when we announce our engagement to society?”

He leans in as he buttons it to whisper into Bitty’s ear. “Or will you deny me the much greater pleasure of taking it off of you later that night?”

Bitty’s mind flickers to the visual of that before he remembers himself and gently slaps at Mr. Parson’s hands. “You cannot say such things in public, Mr. Parson!”

The mirrors show Mr. Parson’s face fall in replicate. “I’m sorry -- Christine, can you excuse us?”

Once she’s left, he slumps back into his chair. “I did it again, did I not?” 

“Well...yes.” It’s not the first time Mr. Parson’s behavior or language has been coarse, but his reaction is new. In the past, he’s begged Bitty’s pardon then carried on once it was received, his good humor firmly in place. 

Bitty walks over to him and lifts his face with both hands. “You seem much more sincere in your convictions, which I do appreciate.”

“I beg your forgiveness. Shall I leave you for the day?”

“That’s a little dramatic,” Bitty assures. He kisses Mr. Parson on the cheek and walks back to the dais. “I forgive you. Especially since you have chosen such a fine tuxedo for our party. Christine? Can you return to us?”

When she does, Bitty arranges to have the suit tailored next week, and lets Mr. Parson take him to a very expensive dinner. He almost gets the silverware right, but if Bitty never has to see him try to take apart a lobster again, he’ll be a happy man. 

That night, he replays the events of the day as he gets into bed. He gets stuck on the feeling of Mr. Parson’s breath on his ear as he spoke to Bitty about disrobing him. His mind wanders to their engagement party mid-month, to the huge suite reserved for them after, and to the unspoken assumption he’s sure Mr. Parson has of what will happen there. 

And why would he assume anything else? Mr. Parson is handsome and in good health, a celebrated athlete who lifted the Stanley Cup last spring, and Bitty cannot deny the part of himself that wonders what it would be like to touch the muscles he’s seen in sports magazines.

Yes, he’s seen the photos and videos of Mr. Parson -- _Kent_ , his mind supplies unbidden -- grinning in the locker room after a victory, half undressed, the bulk of his uniform pants emphasizing how trim his waist is, his breath still quick after the exertion of the game.

It probably sounds the same during a very different form of exertion -- 

Bitty’s hand moves below the covers, slips under the thin fabric of his pajamas as he imagines them in their room after the party, Kent removing his jacket, then dropping to his knees to undo Bitty’s belt, then his pants, his coarse language finding an appropriate outlet as he places his hands all over --

A few moments later, the blond head he’s envisioning between his thighs changes to one of thick, dark hair, broad shoulders propping up Bitty’s legs.

“Jack,” Bitty murmurs, imagining plush lips wrapped around him, cheekbones sharp as Jack uses his mouth to bring him to completion. 

When he checks his phone after, there’s a text from Mr. Parson wishing him sweet slumber.

Bitty groans.

* * * *

“My goodness,” Bitty says as he sips the wine Mr. Parson ordered for them. “This is delicious.”

“I’m so glad.” Mr. Parson reaches across the table for Bitty’s hand. “You really like it?”

“Yes, though I thought you were not familiar with Italian vintages.” 

Mr. Parson grimaces, clearly remembering one of their earlier summer meetings, when he’d been so stymied by the wine list Bitty had to order for them, the sommelier's raised eyebrows judging them both. “I, uh. I took a class.”

“Really?” This is new information. “When?” 

“Snuck it before pre-season.” Mr. Parson looks out over the dining room before speaking quietly. “I don’t want to embarrass you. I mean, any more than I already have.”

It’s not an insignificant gesture. Bitty is well aware of the demands of Mr. Parson’s schedule, their assistants going through incredible effort to create pockets of time for their dates and wedding preparation appointments. 

It’s very touching, really. 

Bitty squeezes his hand. “You don’t embarrass me.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Mr. Parson says, returning his gaze to Bitty. “But you’re incredibly fair upon the eyes, so I forgive you.” 

Bitty sticks his tongue out at him, and Mr. Parson’s eyes go wide.

Bitty shrugs as he takes another sip of the excellent wine. “I too am capable of surprise.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Parson raises his glass. “I’ll toast to that.”

The December afternoon is crisp and bright, and they have time before Bitty’s next appointment, so they walk through Central Park. Mr. Parson stops to coo over a puppy and a baby, striking up a conversation with the couple pushing the stroller, the two women unaware that they’re talking to one of the biggest stars in the NHL, affianced to one of the supposedly richest young men in New York City. 

Mr. Parson interrupts Bitty’s thoughts when he beckons him over; the women are showing him their wedding photos. Their floral arrangements are absolutely incredible, and when Mr. Parson exchanges numbers with them so that they can send him the information about the vendor, Bitty feels a tug on his heart, followed by a warmth that spreads over his chest. 

Maybe, he thinks, not for the first time, this engagement will grow into something beyond financial security. 

He looks at the photo on Mr. Parson’s phone. He has zoomed in on the bouquet, but all Bitty can see is the bliss on the brides’ faces. 

He wonders what story his own wedding photos will tell.

* * * *

A light snow starts to fall as they walk to Bitty’s appointment, the magical kind that makes the city look like a snowglobe. Bitty could walk for another hour enjoying the sight, but they arrive at the building quickly.

“Thank you for a lovely afternoon,” Mr. Parson says. He leans forward and brushes the snow off Bitty’s shoulders, then his hair.

The gloved finger that he runs down Bitty’s cheek is unexpected. “Mr. Parson,” Bitty says softly.

Mr. Parson is watching his mouth, and Bitty feels himself sway forward.

The kiss is soft and sweet, brief enough to be appropriate for two fiances in public.

When Mr. Parson pulls back, the look on his face makes Bitty’s heart skip a beat. “May I call you this evening?” he asks. “I need to speak to you about some party preparation.”

“Of course,” Bitty replies. 

Mr. Parson waits until Bitty is buzzed in to take his leave. 

On the elevator up to the eighth floor, Bitty raises his fingers to his lips. Mr. Parson has made his attraction to Bitty clear with words, as coarse as they have been, that lit a fire in Bitty he cannot deny. He’s imagined their first kiss a thousand times, anticipating something heated or even slightly sordid.

Instead, it was tender and tasted faintly of the wine Mr. Parson had taken a class to learn to order for him.

The elevator dings and Bitty steps into the waiting room. The receptionist smiles at him. “Dr. Zimmermann will be with you momentarily.” 

Bitty occupies himself with his phone, replying to Lardo’s texts inquiring about his lunch without mentioning the kiss at the end, sending off a string of rolling eye emojis when she asks him to send a picture of Jack’s backside.

 _Ask him yourself_ , he texts back. It’s not like Lardo and Jack aren’t friends; when they’d met, they had taken to each other immediately, and Bitty would have to admit that at times he was jealous of the quiet time they spent together in past summers, happy to be in each other’s company as they studied for the MCAT so long ago. 

He had been jealous of anyone who had spent time with Jack those magical Hamptons summers, truly, the feeling strong enough at times that he had to wonder if his crush was really love. 

Now, he’s engaged and Jack is almost done with his residency, and most days it is enough that they are dear friends, no matter what Bitty’s heart may have once desired.

Other days, he could scream at the unfairness of it all, that his parents never considered Jack a potential match for him once Kent Parson made his intentions known, but --

\-- but most days, it’s fine.

When he hears the creak of the door, he looks up. “Dr. Zimmermann, how many lives have you saved today?”

“You know HIPPA prevents me from divulging that.” Jack waves Bitty into his office. 

“So, an uncountable many.” Bitty sits down on the lumpy couch next to Jack’s desk and watches as Jack unpacks his very late lunch. Two pbjs, an apple, and Greek yogurt, as always. 

Bitty rolls his eyes and reaches into his bag. “Here,” he says, tossing a wrapped ookie to Jack. “I see your feelings written across your face, please know that is a protein cookie I am considering for my next cookbook and will not derail your nutrition.”

“Fine,” Jack says. “I shall be your guinea pig, again.”

Bitty does most of the talking as Jack eats, filling him in on the latest plans for the engagement party, and his surprise at Mr. Parson’s secret wine classes.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Bitty says after he finishes the story. 

“I’m not.” Jack frowns at the cookie and breaks off a piece. “He’s like that.” 

“He is?” Bitty asks. “I was unaware.”

“Yeah, he always --” Jack pauses. “I mean, he -- it appears that he is smitten.”

“I’d hope so,” Bitty says lightly before he redirects the conversation, just like he always does when Jack finds an awkward moment. “Try that cookie.”

From the way Jack practically inhales it, Bitty knows he can move the recipe out of the trial stage. 

They chat a bit longer, and before he leaves, Bitty pulls another half dozen cookies out of his bag, winning him a dazzling Zimmermann smile. 

Though he’s had years of ignoring his feelings for Jack, that smile does test his discipline.

He gets home later than he meant to and spends the early evening perusing his wardrobe. He’d made a couple of purchases after meeting with Jack, guilt in every swipe of his father’s credit card, but he can’t be seen on the arm of Kent Parson in last season’s ready to wear, now can he?

He holds up garments in front of the mirror, but his mind is flickering between Mr. Parson’s lips warm against his, and the brush of Jack’s fingers against his wrist when he’d handed him his cookies. 

His phone rings and gives him a reprieve. “Hi, honey.” He reclines on his bed, propped up against a mound of pillows. “Was your flight uneventful?”

“Yes, but unpleasant without you by my side.” He hears a faint commotion in the background. 

“You charmer.” Bitty shifts to get under the covers. “Where are you?”

“Paying my bill at the hotel bar.”

“I assume you had a lovely glass of Barolo,” Bitty teases.

“Yes, except it tasted oddly like two Jack and Cokes. Most off-putting.”

“I’d think so.” It’s taken a while to get this banter going between them, through their summer courtship and the awkwardness of getting to know a stranger. There have been plenty of misfires, but they’ve reached a place of comfort, mostly, as Mr. Parson has gotten accustomed to being in the higher echelon of society.

When Bitty is at his most generous, he can admit that his own adjustment to seeing the fun in how the newly moneyed, such as Mr. Parson, approach life has probably assisted their relationship as well.

Mr. Parson is clearly distracted as he pays and makes his way to his room, forgivable since he was in such haste to call Bitty before it was too late in the night. Bitty hears the beep of the key card and the sound of the heavy door shutting, knows that now he’ll have the full attention of his fiance. “How are your accommodations?”

“Perfect except for lacking you,” 

“Mr. Parson, first, you already said that about the flight, some originality please!” He hears Kent laugh. “Second, how dangerous to suggest that we should be in a hotel room unsupervised.” 

“Mr. Bittle,” Kent returns, “I would happily invite any number of my teammates over to supervise a perfectly decorous evening if I could be in your company.”

“No, thank you.” If Mr. Parson is rough around the edges, his teammates are vulgar enough that Bitty had hesitated to include them in the invites to the engagement fete. “You are quite enough for me.”

A pause lingers. “Am I?” Mr. Parson asks quietly. “I doubt our parents would have pushed for our courtship if they thought we wouldn’t be a good match, but -- do you desire me?”

“I am not unhappy to marry you,” Bitty hedges. “Is this the ideal time to discuss this?”

“The time to our wedding only grows closer. The banns have been posted and our engagement celebration is next weekend.” Mr. Parson pauses. “I am sure I can provide you with a good measure of happiness, darling, we get on so well, but I worry -- “

“I’ve been thinking of our kiss all day,” Bitty blurts out. _The parts of the day when I wasn’t with Jack_ , his mind unhelpfully supplies.

“Oh?” The hope in his voice cuts straight to Bitty’s heart. “Have you?”

“Yes.” Bitty can admit as much. “I had wondered when we would share that moment.”

“Was it what you’d hoped for?” 

“It was --” Bitty hesitates, unsure of how truthful to be. “When I had imagined it, it was always in a fantasy of a carriage ride, or a sunset, or the like -- “

“I see,” Mr. Parson says, coldness creeping into the edges of his voice.

“You did not let me finish,” Bitty says. “I had imagined it differently, but -- “ he pauses, then decides to put things plainly. “You took a class for me, and you were so kind and thoughtful with the couple in the park, and if our life is made up of small moments like that, I think we will be very happy indeed.”

“Happy,” he repeats, “I can live with that. But, Eric,” Bitty softly gasps at the shock of hearing his first name on Mr. Parson’s lips, “Do you desire me?”

“I --” Bitty’s heart is beating perilously fast, his mind going back to his fantasy of Mr. Parson following the suit fitting

It wasn’t the first time he’d let himself imagine such a thing. 

“I must confess I do.” The covers are getting too warm. “Would you video call me? 

The call comes through almost instantly. Mr. Parson is lit softly, also in bed, his chest bare and his face fond. “So our marriage bed will not be a cold one, Mr. Bittle?”

“Eric.” The words slip out. “Please call me Eric.”

“Only if you will call me Kent. Eric, will our marriage bed be cold?”

“No, Kent,” Bitty tastes the name as he says it, thrilling at the intimacy. “It will not be cold.”

“I am so very pleased to hear that,” Kent says. “Since I have already passed all propriety, may I stray a bit further?”

“How much further?” Bitty’s voice has gone breathy.

“You’ve seen me in various degrees of undress due to my job,” Kent says, and Bitty’s mind flashes to the photos he has saved on his computer, photos featuring the cut of Kent’s hips and the muscles across his back, “would you remove your shirt so I might see you?”

Before he can think better of it, Bitty puts his phone on the nightstand, angling it toward the bed. He faces it and slowly undoes the buttons of his shirt. 

“You are truly lovely,” Kent says as Bitty slips it off his shoulders. “I cannot wait to have you in my bed.”

“What would you do with me?” Bitty places his hand over his mouth; how could such words escape!

“I would tell you,” Kent’s eyes have gone serious, “if I have your agreement to hear it.”

“Yes,” Bitty breathes.

“And your promise to tell me if I go too far?”

“I will,” Bitty promises. “Now tell me what you would do were I in your bed.”

“I would,” Kent says, low and hot, “take my time touching you, first your exquisite neck --”

Bitty trails his fingers down the side of his neck. “And then?”

“Then I would want to see where you are sensitive.” Kent runs his hands down his own chest, his fingers tugging at his nipple. “Here?”

Bitty mirrors him and shudders. 

Kent slides his hand across his chest. “And the other? Shall I pull a bit harder for you?”

“Yes,” Bitty whispers, imagining Kent’s fingers in place of his own.

“Good.” Kent continues his exploration of his own body, running his hand down to his stomach and flicking open the button at the top of his pants. “Follow me, darling.” 

Bitty does, and it’s not long till Bitty’s trembling in just his underwear, hard and impossibly turned on. 

“Oh, angel,” Kent says. “Can I continue?”

“I might die if you do not,” Bitty says, sliding his briefs down and kicking them off.

Kent leans forward. “Touch yourself, but imagine my hand.”

It’s so good when he does, he closes his eyes to savor it. 

“No, look at me,” Kent orders, and when Bitty meets his eyes, intense and dark and adoring, he keens. 

“Beautiful.” Bitty watches as Kent removes his own boxers and takes himself in hand.

“Are you,” Bitty gasps, “imagining my hand in place of yours?”

“Not for the first time, love,” Kent says.

At that, Bitty comes. 

It takes Kent a moment longer, and then they’re both laid out on their beds, breathing hard. Once Bitty’s caught his breath, he tidies himself with some tissue and covers up again. It’s silly to feel shy after what they just did, but --

“You were amazing,” Kent says. “Are you -- did I go too far? Are you alright, darling?”

Bitty feels himself blush. “You are the first man to see me in such a way.”

“You are a revelation,” Kent says. “But answer me, please, as to the state of your mind.”

“I am satisfied in every way,” Bitty says, feeling his cheeks heat even more. “And regretful in none.”

“Likewise, Mr. Bittle.” Kent yawns. “I must rest. May I call you tomorrow night?”

“Wait,” Bitty says. “You mentioned earlier you had some questions about our party preparations.”

“Ah, yes.” Kent arranges himself under the covers. “I assume at our fete there will be dancing?”

“As at all balls, Mr. Parson.” Honestly, Bitty shouldn’t be surprised at Kent’s lack of familiarity with society balls, but to not know there would be dancing! Gracious. 

“Then I’m going to need some lessons,” Kent says, a slight sheepishness to his voice. “I’ve never ballroom danced before.”

“Oh, it is most diverting!” Bitty sits up, energized. “I have the perfect teacher, a friend of mine.”

“Great,” Kent says. “I will return in two days, can you arrange for us to meet?”

“Of course.” Bitty reaches for his phone. “I’m going to hang up now so I can contact him.”

“Wonderful. Eric, I --” Kent pauses and clears his throat. “I am grateful for your patience as I learn. I’m sure I am not the fiance you dreamed of, but I will do my best.”

“I know, as you have already shown that to be true,” Eric says. They say their goodbyes and Eric nestles into bed. No, Kent isn’t whom he would have chosen, but he is growing in his affection for him day by day. 

He flushes anew as he realizes what they just did and pushes thoughts of the night of their engagement party to the back of his mind. 

Before he can think better of it, sends Kent a red heart emoji, then tosses his phone on the bedside table. 

* * * *

“He’s not a dance teacher,” Bitty explains when they reach the dance studio. He waits while Kent gets out of the car and walks around to open the door for him. “But we were paired so many times at balls that he knows how I move very well, and his own form is excellent.”

“Should I be jealous?” Kent teases as he takes Bitty’s hand and leads them into the building. 

Since Kent’s return, he’s been generous in his affection. Generous and appropriate, with brief kisses and gentle touches when they’re out, and Bitty is about to be driven mad with frustration over it all.

Their engagement ball is this Saturday. Bitty can endure until then. Once they are publicly debuted, they will be afforded the luxury of private time. 

“No, not jealous,” Bitty says. It’s only the slightest falsehood. 

On the elevator, Bitty uses Kent’s scarf to tug him down into a kiss. “Thank you for wanting to learn,” he says.

“Thank you for wanting to teach me,” Kent answers. The doors open and they step out. “Darling, I don’t think you shared the name of your friend.”

“Oh, how mindless of me!” Bitty says as they walk into the studio, where a man is already warming up at the barre. “Mr. Parson, please meet Dr. Zimmermann.”

“Hi, Kenny,” Jack says as turns to face them.

“Zimms.” Bitty watches as the color drains from Kent’s face. “I -- I was not expecting to see you.”

“It has been too many years.” Jack says as he plugs a cord into his phone. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you. Before we begin, can you direct me to the bathroom?”

Kent leaves and Bitty crosses his arms and looks at Jack. “And why, pray tell, did you hide from me that you know my fiance?”

“I knew him when we were young. It is a long tale.” Jack scrolls through a playlist. “And quite dull.”

Bitty walks over to Jack. “Dr. Zimmermann, answer me truly. Would Kent say the same?”

“I do not know his mind.” Jack holds out his hand to Bitty. “Shall we dance?”

“Perhaps we should leave,” Bitty says as Kent returns.

“No,” Kent says. “I won’t make a fool of you on Saturday. Come, show me how you dance.”

Bitty would argue further, but Jack takes his hand and pulls him towards him, and then they’re off, moving around the floor with practiced ease. It takes but half a song before they find their rhythm, before Bitty remembers how much he loves to embellish his movements, how solid and steady Jack is. 

He is aware of Kent on the periphery of the room, aware of Jack’s big hand on his waist, aware of Jack’s piercing gaze upon his face, but cannot put those pieces together in a way that adds up to how suddenly the large room feels too small for the three of them.

The song ends, and Jack calls over Kent. “Here,” he directs. “Put your hand on Bitty’s waist, yes --” 

In mere seconds, Kent is positioned properly, Jack beside him calling out directions. 

Kent’s athleticism carries him most of the way, but he still missteps on the turns, and Bitty can tell he’s growing cross. 

Jack sighs. “Bitty, you must let Kent lead on the turns.”

“I would, if he would stop stepping on my feet,” Bitty says. He might be a bit cross as well. 

“Then I’ll follow and do it properly so he can learn,” Jack says.

Kent looks from Bitty to Jack and then back again as Jack takes Bitty’s place. 

“I can’t --”

“Turns are not that difficult,” Jack says, taking one of Kent’s hands and placing it on his waist.

“That’s not -- fine,” Kent hisses. 

Bitty is taken aback. He has never heard such a tone from his fiance. 

“Fine,” Jack bites out. 

Nor has he heard such a tone from Jack.

Before he can say anything, the music swells, and the two men are off around the room. Bitty watches Kent’s feet. By their third turn, they are moving with precision, and Bitty breathes a sigh of relief that his party shoes will be spared being trodden upon.

He smiles as he raises his eyes to Kent’s face, and --

\-- it is full of pain. 

No, anguish. 

Bitty strides across the room and cuts the music. “Kent?” he asks. “Are you quite well?”

“No, Eric,” he answers. “I beg your leave.”

“Wait --” Bitty starts.

“Kenny -- “ Jack calls out.

But it’s too late. Kent has fled, without his jacket or bag.

* * * *

Bitty’s been to the Islander’s practice arena frequently, but never when it’s only Kent upon the ice, hitting puck after puck into the goal with punishing brutality, like he has a personal vendetta against the net. 

He may well have one, Bitty thinks, shaking his head. He knew his fiance had many sides, but today showed him again that they have much to discover about each other. 

“Mr. Parson,” he calls.

Kent launches a slapshot. “Mr. Bittle, are we back to formalities, now?”

“Perhaps, if you continue to ignore my phone calls when I am looking for you!”

“Well done,” Kent says sarcastically. “You found me.”

“My driver awaits to take you back to your apartment, Kent. Will you leave with me or will you continue in your aimless activity and mockery?”

“I believe I’ll take the second choice, thank you.”

“So be it.” Bitty leans down and takes the covers off his skates. It’s been a while, but when the blades cut into the ice, he finds his footing and pushes off towards Kent.

“What are you doing?” Kent asks. “You never let on that you could skate.”

“I’m here to take you home, and I am, as you well know, persistent.”

“I think the word I choose most is ‘stubborn’,” Kent says as he starts to skate backward, away from Bitty. “I’m much faster than you.”

“I know, I have watched your games, more than once,” Bitty says wryly. Indeed, Kent can skate backward faster than Bitty can forward, but actually catching him isn’t Bitty’s plan.

He wobbles once, to make sure Kent is watching, then pitches forward, just catching himself.

Like lightning, Kent is by his side, a steadying arm around his shoulders.

“Good evening, Kent.”

“Good evening, Eric.” 

“My driver awaits. May I take you home?”

Kent slumps against Bitty. “That would be very kind of you.”

Bitty lets Kent skate the two of them over to the benches and helps him take off his skates and get back into his street clothes. In the car, he wraps himself around Kent, disengaging only when they arrive at Kent’s well-appointed apartment building. When Bitty moves to leave the car with him, Kent places his hand on his chest to stop him.

“I have behaved badly enough for one day,” he says. “I will not risk your reputation by having you come into my apartment at night. Our engagement party is only days away.”

“Of that, I am well aware,” Bitty says, taking Kent’s hand in his own. “But my fiance is in a most tender state and I do not trust him to himself.”

Kent hangs his head. “I do not have the strength to say no to you.”

“That actually bodes well for our marriage,” Bitty teases, as Kent lets him lead them out of the car and into the building.

Kent’s apartment is lovely, decorated with care and style, and normally Bitty would make a study of it, but tonight he is concerned only with Kent, who comes out of the shower in a gray sweatshirt and track pants, barefoot, the softness of it even more appealing than his most refined suits. 

Bitty gathers him into his arms, his damp hair against his chin. The story comes out in bits and pieces, a tale of school days when he could pretend that he was the equal of the boys his hockey scholarship let him play with, of Jack, beautiful and shy and awkward, the varsity captain and his first love, of their acrimonious parting when their life paths diverged.

“I said such horrid things to him, Eric. I’m still ashamed. How can a soul hold such love and such hatred?”

“I believe the answer can be found in your age and in the expectations placed upon you both, Kent.” Bitty strokes his hair. “Medical school, the NHL, my goodness. You were very much in love with him before it all though, weren’t you?”

“I was,” Kent says into Bitty’s shirt.

Bitty ceases his attention to Kent’s hair and entwines their fingers, bringing his hand up to kiss it. “And now?”

“I don’t know him, now. But --” Kent hesitates.

”You may speak freely to me, now and always.” Bitty would wager he already knows what his fiance will say.

“After I laid eyes on him today, I must confess that my heart still desires him,” Kent says, confirming Bitty’s suspicions. “Are you quite angry, darling?”

“I should be,” Bitty says carefully. “But there is something I must confide to you as well.”

Slight sounds of encouragement are all that come from Kent as Bitty tells the tale of meeting Jack in The Hamptons, of how utterly unpleasant he was when they first met, of how over the summers he spent volunteering for Alicia Zimmermann’s charity ball, he got to know the softer side of Jack, the side that would do anything to help his family and friends, a man who spoke of his darkest hours to Bitty as they sat on driftwood on the beach, beers slowly going warm in their hands.

“I’ve been in love with Jack for years,” Bitty says when he finishes. “I cannot fault you for having good taste.”

Kent laughs, a sad bitterness to it. “I saw his face as you two danced. I do not think your affection is unrequited. He is of your society in a way I can never fully attain, that much cannot be denied, and to know that you love him -- I’m sorry you are bound to me by your parents’ misfortune. It is not too late to end our engagement.”

“I’m not sorry,” Bitty says, realizing as he says it that it is true. “Are you sorry that you are bound to me by your parents’ desire for the connection to my last name, as you also love him?”

“No,” Kent lifts his face to Bitty’s for a kiss. 

His lips taste of salt. Bitty marvels at the affection he feels for him. “Jack knew you were my betrothed by name long before our ill-fated meeting. I do not think he would have consented to the lesson if he did not wish to see you again.”

“So where does this leave us?”

Bitty digs his phone out of his pocket and pulls up one of the many spreadsheets his mother has made. “Hmm. Jack did RSVP yes to the party on Friday -- ”

“ -- that’s quite late, no?”

“It was after he agreed to teach my fiance to dance.”

“Oh.”

“Shall I text him to say he is still most welcome?”

“Yes. And perhaps -- “ Kent falters.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Bitty encourages.

“I know that we have a room reserved for our use after the party, but I am quite content to use it merely to sleep next to you, and I do not expect to, well --”

“Oh, dear,” Bitty says, holding back his laughter at his sweet husband-to-be. “If all we do is sleep I will be most dissatisfied.”

Kent sits up fully. “Oh?”

“Do you think I did not enjoy our phone call while you were away?”

Kent, bless him, blushes. “Well, if your expectations of the night are thus set, might we extend an invitation to Jack to join us?”

Bitty can’t quite believe his ears. “Honey, are you quite sure?”

“Not only for pleasure,” Kent says quickly. “But as more, if you are amenable to it. I believe that the three of us can build something together. Jack and I were not meant to last. You and he never were. But maybe now --”

“I think -- “ Bitty hesitates, the thought of having Kent and Jack by his side, in his life and in his bed, almost too much bliss to hold. “Yes. I think you’re right.”

“A paramour who knows us both, and whom we both adore.”

“A perfect fit, I dare say.”

Bitty composes, erases, and rewrites the text multiple times until Kent grabs his phone from him. Bitty tries valiantly to recover it, but cannot, and soon Jack’s voice comes out of the speakers.

“Bits?”

“That is a charming nickname,” Kent says.

“Parse. Why --”

“Your Bits, my Eric, he and I have had a talk. For Saturday --”

“Don’t worry, I will send my regrets to your parents --”

“Actually,” Bitty interrupts, “we would be quite happy to have you there.”

“...you would?”

“Kent and I have been discussing many things concerning you, and, if you agree, we’d like you to come to the engagement and introduce you as our paramour, and join us after.”

“That -- seems sudden.”

“It does,” Bitty agrees as Kent flops back into his lap, “But also, how long have you known Kent?”

“Since we were fifteen.”

“And,” Bitty continues, “How long have you known me?”

“Since you started summering in the Hamptons.”

“So, not really sudden at all.” Bitty’s fingers find their way into Kent’s hair again. “Just new.”

“But you two are betrothed --” Jack starts.

Bitty massages Kent’s scalp. “That’s new, too.”

There is a long pause before Jack continues. “I cannot spend one night with you both and then leave you. It would be too painful.”

“We aren’t asking you to leave,” Kent says from Bitty’s lap. “We want you to be our paramour, treasured and loved as equal. For as long as you like.”

“I don’t know.” The hesitation in Jack’s voice bleeds through the line.

“There’s no need for a decision tonight,” Bitty says. “Think on it. Come to the party if your answer is yes.”

They hang up, and Kent takes Bitty’s hand from his hair and holds it over his fast-beating heart. “I’m scared.”

“Me too,” Bitty soothes. “Mostly about Jack, but also about your feet. You still cannot dance!”

“Hey!” Kent sits up and crosses his arms in mock outrage. “It’s not my fault that my teacher happened to be my ex-boyfriend and my fiance can’t resist leading on turns!” 

Bitty laughs and cups Kent’s face in his hands. “I will teach you properly tomorrow. And, I must inquire, how often does an engagement have the chance to make three people happy?”

“Or miserable.” Kent’s voice quivers.

Bitty wraps him in his arms. “I have become quite fond of you and cannot envision myself in misery so long as you are near. Let Jack make his choice, and we will follow.”

“You don’t --” 

Bitty silences him with a kiss, and soon they fall asleep right on the couch. When they awake, Kent prepares breakfast and then they push the living room's furniture aside to create a dance floor. 

It takes an hour’s work before Kent no longer flinches when Bitty reminds him that 400 people will be watching him on Saturday, and another hour to truly set him at ease.

Bitty kissing him to distraction between songs likely helps.

* * * *

Bitty peeks through the heavy curtains to the side of the grand staircase. “Are guests still arriving?”

“Yes,” Kent answers, pulling the curtain fully shut. “Mr. Zimmermann is yet to be accounted for. You must accept that he may well not come.”

Bitty sighs and leans back against his fiance. “Very well. I shall make do with one handsome man in my bed tonight.”

“I will do my best to accommodate,” Kent says, brushing his lips against Bitty’s throat. 

Bitty turns to kiss Kent properly, and had he not just brought up what they have to look forward to at the night’s conclusion, they probably could have limited it to one kiss rather than a series that get deeper and deeper.

Thankfully, they hear the clicking of Mrs. Bittle’s shoes in advance of her arrival and have neatened themselves up by the time she comes across them.

Bitty pushes aside thoughts of Jack as he offers his arm to his mother, as he lets her and his father escort him to the top of the stairs and be introduced, as Kent walks down the opposite staircase and into his arms, tipping him back for a kiss before he whirls him off to the dance floor.

It is a night for the history books, for the storybooks, for every love-struck fool to pour over, and by the time the crowd begins to winnow, Bitty’s heart is full.

The band signals for the last dance, and Kent finds him, cutting across the dance floor effortlessly. Bitty laces their fingers together before the music starts, admiring the heavy weight of their engagement bands, the subtle sparkle of diamonds and silver. 

Had someone told him six months ago that he would fall in love with his fiance he would have scoffed, but here he is, utterly head over heels for Kent Parson, his husband to be. 

Kent takes his hand and readies them for the dance, leaning down to speak into Bitty’s ear. “Are you very sad that Jack didn’t come, darling?”

“I am sad at that, yes,” Bitty admits, “but despite my sadness, I find much joy in the realization that I am completely in love with my fiance.”

Kent’s jaw drops, but he manages to keep dancing. “You -- you love me?”

“I do,” Bitty says, as they twirl. “And are my affections returned?”

“Most undoubtedly,” Kent says, kissing him. “I love you, Mr. Bittle, most ardently.”

Confetti falls from the ceiling and Bitty thinks his happiness can be no more complete. He has half a dance left with his husband to be, and then a full night locked away from all prying eyes.

Kent clears his throat. “Eric, I think someone wants to cut in.”

“It’s a little late for that --” Bitty starts, but then Kent ducks out and Jack slides into his place, picking up the lead seamlessly.

“Hi, Bitty. Sorry I’m late.”

“You came,” Bitty feels like his smile will break his face in two. “Oh, but we didn’t get to formally announce you -- that is, assuming you want to be our paramour and aren’t just here to enjoy, well, no, I suppose you would have come earlier --”

Jack bends his head and catches Bitty’s lips in a kiss, heated and far too short for Bitty’s liking. “Does that suffice as an announcement?”

There’s a tap on Bitty’s shoulder, “Love, can I cut in? I mean, Zimms, you’re going to have to follow --”

Jack rolls his eyes as Kent takes Bitty’s place. The song comes to an end a few seconds later, but neither of them noticing as they passionately kiss.

“Lord, can no one --” Bitty grabs both their hands and tugs them to the stage, grabbing a microphone. 

“I cannot thank you enough for coming to celebrate my engagement to Mr. Kent Virgil Parson, and may I introduce our paramour, Dr. Jack Zimmermann, wonderful, now please do not neglect to take a gift bag on the way out. It’s homemade jam and I can promise you, it is delicious.”

The remaining guests are most assuredly talking about them, but Bitty does not care as he pulls his fiance and their paramour across the floor and into an elevator. 

“How subtle,” Jack grumbles, as the door shuts. Bitty pushes him against it, and Jack lifts him as if he weighs nothing. 

“Would you like to register a complaint, Mr. Zimmermann?” Bitty asks. He feels Kent’s arms wind around him, Kent’s body pushing him into Jack. 

“Yes, do you have a complaint against my fiance?” Kent asks as he bites at Bitty’s ear. 

Jack groans. “I’m in love with both of you.”

“Complaint noted,” Kent says, and just as they get a proper rhythm of trading off between kissing Jack, the door opens and they tumble out onto the hallway floor. 

Kent rights himself first and helps Bitty up, then leans down to offer Jack a hand. “I’m sure your fall was cushioned by your giant, delicious ass,” Kent says, eyes roving over Jack’s body. 

“Make haste,” Bitty calls from down the hall, where he vanishes into their suite. 

Any worry Bitty had about Jack and Kent’s experience so vastly outweighing his own vanishes as they attend to him, caressing him as they divest him of his clothes and taking turns kissing his mouth, his face, and then lower, the two of them going to their knees before him, first Kent taking him into his mouth, then Jack, and soon his legs are shaking.

Kent carries him to the bed and sets him in his lap, his chest firm against Bitty’s back, hands roaming all over his arms and chest, whispering a stream of endearments as Jack, his mouth occupied with other things, hums his agreement, sending shock waves through Bitty’s body.

“My love,” Kent asks, “Do you want to finish in Jack’s mouth, or do you wish to extend your pleasure?” 

“I don’t -- yes,” Bitty says, lost in sensation.

Jack slides his mouth up and down the length of Bitty’s cock one more time, then sits back on his heels. “Bits, is this your first time?”

“Yes,” Bitty says. He feels no shame for his inexperience. He has two beautiful men who adore him to teach him the art of making love, and he is certain of their patience and ability.

Jack gently bites his inner thigh. “Think we should choose for him, Kenny?”

“I believe he may be beyond reason,” Kent teases. “Eric, how close are you?” 

“Very,” Bitty answers.

“Stay with us longer,” Kent says, as he rolls Bitty to the side. “Touch yourself as you like, my darling, and rejoin us at your leisure.”

“What are you--oh!” Bitty says, as Kent wraps himself around Jack, licks his hand, and reaches between them, grasping both their cocks. 

“Parse, we--ah! We are no longer in high school,” Jack says. “I have lube in my pants pocket.”

“Too far,” Kent says. 

A bottle lands beside them. They pause and turn to look at Bitty. 

“I may have slipped up here and stocked the nightstand prior to the party,” he says, his blush at odds with the nonchalance of his voice.

Jack laughs and buries his face in Kent’s chest. “Oh, you landed a sharp one.”

“We,” Kent corrects gently. “He’s ours, together, and we’re his.”

Bitty assumes Jack’s sharp intake of breath is as much to do with Kent’s statement as his hand restarting its movement. They’re beautiful together, the strength of their muscles and the tenderness of their embrace mingling into something glorious to behold, and soon Kent is making soft noises. 

“I know that sound well,” Jack says, turning to face Bitty. “If you wish to rejoin us, you should soon. He is approaching his limit.”

“I am not,” Kent lies.

“What prolongs his pleasure?” Bitty asks.

“It takes him longer if he is the one being fucked, that I can tell you.”

“Stop talking about me,” Kent manages.

Bitty takes Kent’s face in his hand and kisses him softly. “Sweetheart, would you have me?”

“Bits,” he gets out before Jack tips them both over. 

“I believe that’s a yes,” Jack says as Bitty moves behind Kent. 

“How do I --” 

“Here,” Jack says, and together they open up Kent, Jack in front of him and Bitty behind him, Bitty following Jack’s lead, marveling at the heat of Kent’s body around his fingers, the utterances slipping from his lips.

“Kenny? Are you ready?” At Kent’s nod, Jack kisses him, then Bitty. “Go slow. He likes that.”

“What,” Kent says, gasping as Bitty pushes in, “what will you do?”

“Finish what you began,” he lays in front of Kent, kissing him even as he moans when Jack takes them both in hand again.

Bitty kisses the back of Kent’s neck, having sunk fully into him. “Oh, love,” he says into Kent’s ear, “you are remarkable.”

Kent turns his face to kiss Bitty, and for a long moment they are content like that, Bitty inside Kent, Jack’s clever hand bringing them both closer and closer to the edge, and messy kisses for all. 

“Fuck,” Kent says.

“Bits, go as fast as you can,” Jack orders, sliding down Kent to take him in his mouth, and it takes only half a minute more for Kent to throw his head back against Bitty’s shoulder and come.

The sensation of his body tightening around Bitty is too much, and Bitty follows him over. 

After a moment’s rest, Kent rolls over to face Bitty. “Thank you,” he says fervently, “for getting us all here. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” 

Jack runs his hand up and down Kent’s back. “If I were to fuck you, could you take it?”

“Please,” Kent says. “Come home to me, Jack.” 

Bitty gets to kiss Kent through it, feeling his body shake as Jack thrusts inside of him. “I want to try that next,” Bitty says.

“Feels. So. Good,” Kent says between thrusts, “You, Jack. Both so good.”

“Would you fuck me?” Bitty asks. He feels Jack shudder behind Kent and still.

Kent grins. “I think Jack finds that idea very appealing.”

“I do,” Jack says, fitting his chin against the top of Kent’s shoulder. “But I think we may need to postpone that until the morrow. Mr. Parson, Mr. Bittle, may I interest you in a shower?”

The suite has a hot tub, as it turns out, so they luxuriate in that, exchanging kisses until Kent starts to yawn. 

They fit well into the bed, all touching in some way, hands seeking hands, kisses graced across shoulders and chests, and backs, and soon Jack and Kent are asleep.

Bitty lingers in wakefulness a moment longer. 

There are considerations for the next day, the next year, and beyond, the logistics of a soon-to-be physician, a hockey player, and a cookbook author making a life together, finding a house and planning for children, and a million other things, but for right now, nestled between his beloved fiance and their adored paramour, Bitty knows a peace he hasn’t felt since he first saw Kent smiling nervously at him from across his parent’s living room, since his father’s business collapsed, since he watched Jack walk away from him the last night of their final Hamptons summer. 

He lets that peace wash over him and closes his eyes, knowing that in the morning, Jack and Kent’s faces will be the first things he sees, tomorrow and for the rest of his life. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to summerfrost for the quick beta work and to the mods for asking me to pinch-hit. I have enjoyed every single Epifest I've done, and I was happy that I got a second chance to contribute this year!
> 
> xoxoxo


End file.
